04
greyhound

In the thin rain, the theatrical frame of a greyhound; a slip of grey felt shrug on the weathering ribs, emblazoned with a voluminous pale pink shiver of ballerina. Was it you who tied these shimmering loops on the back of this withering beast, beset with a neater twist than neat becomes ? You, beak-faced, in that turtle-tail raincoat, absorbed in the black-through-wet-path, the tender rhythm of the mottled haunches, the close wash of tyres against the small ears, the sticklet-thin-to-knee-to clip-nail on the paving. Animal heart beating.